Sunday, December 30, 2012

Peace in our time (with some bull)

Lordy lord, I am at peace. By which I mean for the first time in several weeks I am actually alone. (Ignoring the many cats and chickens and one dog in the garden and the bull bellowing* in the lane waiting for his lady friends to emerge from the dairy.)

I have just finished a book by Jenny Lawson. I was going to send her an indemnifying email half way through to ensure she should not face any legal problems in the event of my sudden death. As it was I survived with several heavy drags of ventolin. I can now see how improper disposal of wet towels could lead to cat leg amputation, making it more important than ever to keep nagging about them (towels, not cat legs). Mind you, then I would have one less purple footprint all over the tub.

Possibly I have been holidaying so hard my mind has turned to jelly (definately without carrot). I am sure I used to make more sense. Bad luck.

*Bulls do in fact bellow but they also make a huge range of other noises - they can sound like a whole barnyard of animals who all happen to have a husky cold. Before the husb. I never knew they are the lyre birds of the ruminant world.**

**This is not to suggest the husband is some sort of minotaur, rather that before him I had not happened to sleep less than 15 m from a paddock full of bulls who were living in a malestrom of testoterone as several hundren cows were walked past their fence 4 times per day.***

***Now this is sounding like some kind of bizarre sexual torture for livestock, but the cows were going to and from the dairy.